Catharsis or Catharsis or Pish-Posh?
There are (at least) two types or ways of experiencing
When we are desirous of something, someone, whatever, we often go to great lengths to get them into our lives (in a meaningful way). It could simply be beating someone at a game. When we achieve that goal, after whatever we’ve gone through, we usually enjoy an enhanced state of well-being. Catharsis, in case you didn’t know, or a form of.
On the other hand, when confronted with hardship, we usually strive to get through it. An illness, a debt, a loss, those sorts of things. The ‘journey’ as we so often call it these days brings an experience to the sufferer which, once they have passed through - even as they are passing - bring an enhanced sense of well-being. Relief is one word, but tears of joy, that sort of thing are all pertinent. The other face of catharsis.
For my part, I have a preference for one subject matter over the other. In the second case, perhaps someone writes it down somehow. A journal they say, can be cathartic. Naturally, others might empathise and others again might have done the same trip or are about to. Some people publish what they wrote, suggesting it could help others through similar problems. I wonder if we are forgetting old aphorisms, proverbs, parables and the like? I know they may not share detail or subject, but the how and why of getting over adversity are out there - friends, family and parents for example would give it freely.
To begin assessing the first example, we might look at biographies. How people beat this, won that, strove to attain the other - maybe weren’t even expecting that way of life. But the world and it’s agony aunt seem ready to burst into tears at a moment’s notice. It’s infectious, perhaps I’m too soft anyway. I get a lump in my throat watching The Waltons or Strictly Come Dancing. But the media (we should always blame them) seem hell bent on seeking out sob stories. And gooey as I may be, I am frightfuly sniffy about all these agonising posts, internet-wide, from people bleating on about hardship - and using it as a device to get sympathy votes. If we deserve sympathy, we don’t have to beg, surely? And once upon a time it was bad manners to foist any discomfort on others.
I have of late encountered some excellent writers on substack (we Johnny Come Latelies can feel a chill wind, even once the algorythms get that we hate this, love that). They are so good, they snuck some dodgy cathartic material under my radar (which is on autoclickaway) because they are so eloquent. But now I find they are staying with these themes - by choice or because they think it’s bringing success? Maybe either or both, but others seem to follow suit. The post section is full of it (whatever platform we visit, except maybe linked in!!!:), and on substack even the poetry section is flooded with (I’m tempted to swear) heartache. Oh yes, poetry is an emotional thing, but are there not other emotions (besides in my case the impulse to barf)?
I could also share aggrievance about poeple putting literary criticism, how-to and other writing about writing (I see the irony, piss off) anywhere but on the literary criticism plot. It’s more fishing, is it not, to get followers, subscribers and hello monetised scrivener. I fell into the vanity publishing trap many years ago, craving response and critique. While we’re all confessing crap, I’ll admit to using the word ‘equus’ - to which the rightful response was “Oh dear”. Farewell, ye 1990s. And the reams of drivel I wrote. Maybe THAT was cathartic. But up to that point, local independant periodicals, media and places of interest all lauded and published my verse. All I’m saying is, now we have substack, here is an opportunity to positively comment (whether like/dislike) on our peers. But how much does it happen?
Now we’re getting in deep. Internet as in life, meeting people of any value (to themselves or you) is a rare occurence. Many might be affable acquaintences, but like at open mics, who needs polite applause (you can tell by the tone they’re thinking “well that was shyte”) where a helpful comment in a reading group might help us see how to improve - or our utter helplessness. Of course, opinion comes into that. Some people do like greeting card quality verse. If you’re a poet you know what I mean, people who aren’t even big readers quote Pam Ayers at you, as if to qualify their esteemed eminence.
At least however, Ms Ayers makes light of tragedy, as does John Cooper Clarke. Where show biz folk like that do well is parallel with those who write in rhyme and metre etc, study and get professor emiritus and laureateship - but are those really goals everyone wants? We’re lying to ourselves if we say we aren’t hurt by critique and joyous at praise and applause. Even if we write for ourselves, this by and large involves some even reluctant showing to somebody else…
Where is your opinion reader (and I don’t ask to aggrandise myself) on any kind of hassle in the entertainments? We can all go on the ‘journey’ (see various fairground rides), but don’t we need to recognise valour, injustice and other apsects of vicissitude for ourselves. Like the TV show Gogglebox, when we view the viewers remarking “F*ck off!” when they see something impossible, whatever. Deep joy. They are joining with those under sufference - but because there is some greater prize in question that they pursue. Not beacuse they tuned in and found, say, James Bond sobbing in the gutter “It’s not fair, they’ve got my girlfriend, they’ve shot up my car and there’s a motherflipping rocket about to blow a hole the size of Russia in the USA. Harrumph, wheeze”. No sympathy there then, not that you or I deal day to day with girlfriends, missiles etc. Well, maybe the girlfriend, she gives me the odd rocket. Not that sort. Honestly…
Let me take you in one last horrid glimpse to a poetry group on facebook. Come on, says I dragging you by the arm, it’s only for a moment… There’s a picture of a golden rosebud - with blood on it. Yeah. And a descriptive stanza of a lover’s unutterable beauty. But this rapidly descends into the way they scorned the writer, tore their heart up, trampled their buds and left them to bleed in eternity. Had enough yet? Are they writing stupendous poetry, or noting their feelings in the vain hope everyone will gasp and wonder why they aren’t published yet. Get this, there are some that are!!! Smack my gob with a fillet of monkfish! It seems to be the popular milieu. People comment “Ye, yo de poet” and things, and we have to gasp at their rappish eloquence. They’d make great auctioneers.
When you write, are you using some calamity to get people on your side, to clean your muck out, or to entertain yourself? Because chacnes are, the latter is at least morally more worthy of respect and likes. Rather than ‘OM actual G’ ‘WTAF’. Enough perhaps for a short ripple of laudanum, but how long did the reader linger over your prosaic eloquence? Nah, it took too long to even say prosaic eloquence.
We must part, alas. May I leave you with some tough love, which my darling elder sister handed me whenever I cried.
“Oliver’s fried fish
Three halfpence a dish
Don’t buy it
Don’t buy it
It stinks when you fry it”
Depressing addendum/coincidence - my (big) brother just phoned as I was about to hit ‘publish’ and he told me a Chinese proverb:
“All same-same, one-hundred years time”.